


The Case of the Howling Dog

by mydogwatson



Series: The Postcard Tales [15]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternative Meeting, Dog - Freeform, Gen, Pre-Slash, Tea
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-02
Updated: 2015-11-02
Packaged: 2018-04-29 15:36:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5132921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mydogwatson/pseuds/mydogwatson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They are always going to meet.  It might have happened this way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Case of the Howling Dog

**Author's Note:**

> This story is from one of the postcards that didn't make it here from London, but luckily I took pix of both sides before mailing.

Sherlock Holmes, a genius and consulting detective [although the world was not really aware of that fact as yet], had always begrudged his transport’s need for occasional sleep, so he resisted it for as long as possible. But eventually he had to stop working or experimenting or whatever he was doing to keep his racing mind under control [short of the old way, in which he could no longer indulge if he wanted that idiot Scotland Yard detective to let him help on another case] and sleep.

Consequently, when he was abruptly awakened after only two hours, he was not happy. He was the very opposite of happy, in fact. The noise that had awakened him slowly penetrated his consciousness before he actually recognised the racket for what it was. But finally he realised: there was a dog very nearby and it was howling.

Bloody hell.

Sherlock threw himself out of the bed and stalked over to the window, yanking it open. Down below, he could see the beast in the light of the full moon. It appeared to be a bulldog, not a breed especially prone to howling, he knew. There was a man standing beside the dog, apparently an irresponsible owner. Sherlock leaned out a bit. “Will you kindly shut your stupid dog up?” he said loudly.

The man tipped his head back and looked at Sherlock. “Not my dog,” he said. “I just found him.” 

Sherlock was momentarily distracted by the way the moonlight seemed to make the man’s hair glow. Then he slapped the window ledge. “Well, do something! I’m trying to sleep up here.”

“Would you like me to shoot him?” the man replied irritably. “It’s only a pup and he’s obviously terrified.”

Sherlock decided that he had better just go out and take care of this personally or he would soon have Mrs Hudson fluttering around or the married ones next door interfering. So he grabbed his dressing gown and headed downstairs.

Close up, the noise was even louder, of course. And the man’s hair more golden. Which was unimportant, Sherlock told himself impatiently. Dragging his gaze from the man’s interesting face, he glared at the dog.

Which shut up immediately. 

The stranger grinned at him in the moonlight. “You have magical qualities,” he said, sticking out his hand. “John Watson.”

When Sherlock remembered how to breathe, he shook hands with John Watson and oddly did not let go immediately. “Sherlock Holmes.” He let his eyes wander over John Watson, telling himself it was for the purpose of deduction and not just for the pleasure of doing so. “Afghanistan or Iraq?” he said after a moment.

The grin widened. “You really are a wizard, aren’t you?”

Sherlock scoffed. “Don’t be ridiculous. The tan lines give you away. Those and your military bearing. Military, tan lines. Afghanistan or Iraq makes sense. Not to mention that you were obviously injured.”

“Well, the cane rather tells you that, doesn’t it?” Watson sounded amused.

Sherlock gave him a glare, then asked, “Would you really have shot the dog?”

“No. Of course not. I’m a doctor. And I don’t even have a gun.”

Sherlock just raised a brow at him. A soldier and a doctor, he thought. Even more interesting.

Watson bent down to pet the dog. “No collar or tags, poor thing.” He tilted his head to gaze up at Sherlock. “Lost and alone. That is scary.” Then he swallowed hard and looked at the dog again.

Sherlock wanted to tell John Watson that he wasn’t lost and alone anymore, which was ridiculous. Even more ridiculous, he wanted to tell him that neither of them would be lost and alone ever again. He didn’t say any of that aloud, of course. Instead, he ran a hand through his hair and said, “Would you like a cup of tea?”

John straightened, hesitated just a moment, and then nodded. “That would be nice.”

“I have no milk,” Sherlock felt he had to say, as a warning. Maybe giving John a chance to escape.

“Okay,” John said cheerfully. Whether it was bravery or stupidity wasn’t clear.

Deciding that it didn’t matter, Sherlock turned and headed back up the stairs, with John right behind him. The dog followed them.

Over the tea, which John actually made while Sherlock moved the jar of pig skin and the blood samples off the table, they debated a name for the pup.

The short list came down to Gladstone or Faraday.

*

**Author's Note:**

> Title from: The Case of the Howling Dog by Erle Stanley Gardner


End file.
